The Beast Inside: a Romasanta AU Story in NY
by Akimi Kono
Summary: What happens, and turns up, when 1850s Spain meets 1990s New York? Bodies. And lots of them. Romasanta is back, but this time in the Big Apple. An AU story, starring our favorite historical serial ... well, you know what he is! R&R please!
1. Attorney meets Client

3/4/10

1996 - New York

Rain came down in thick sheets along the tall buildings, streaking the windows. Thick, black clouds rolled across the sky, covering the moon that didn't exist. A thick line of lightning ran across the black, blinding lookers. Cameras' lenses shuttered and clicked, videos rolled and people chattered. One woman, dressing a red fleece jacket with a matching skirt and shoes that matched her skin tone, stepped forward with a wireless microphone with a '4' painted on the side. Shoving through the crowds, she began to interview one of the officers standing in front of the building. The two large glass doors behind them were locked, four officers in front of them. The two standing on the bottom of the concrete steps leading up were taking questions.

"What do you plan to do?" the woman asked, her black hair sticking to her face and neck. "Are you going to release him?"

"There is no definite answer, ma'am. Please, watch it, guys. Easy, easy!" the first cop said, holding out his hand to prevent the woman from coming closer. "Please, ma'am. We can't discuss an ongoing investigation."

"But you've caught him. What else is to keep secret? Everyone knows what he did, but, tell us," she began, speaking into the mic, "Who is he?"

The officer sighed, shaking his head. Water slid off of his hat to the ground. "I can release his name -- but that's it."

"All right, that's all we need."

"His name is Romasanta," the man began, his voice almost being drowned out by the rain and thunder. "Manuel Romasanta."

"Thank you -- " The woman turned back to her camera crew, staring directly into the lens, "You heard it here, first, America. The culprit has been caught. The killer of more than fifteen people -- most of them, if not all, women. And his name is Manuel Romasanta. We'll report to you as we get more information, but as for now, this has been María Santiago, reporting live from New York." She gave a smile until the camera lights went off, then it was replaced by a heavy sigh. "Let's get out of this rain!" she shouted, covering her head with her arms and racing to the van.

As she pulled herself into the passenger seat, her cameraman in the back, the other reporter in the driver's seat, she shook her head. Squeezing out her hair onto the ground, she slammed the door shut and sat back against the cushion. It would be a long day in New York. A long night as well. Pulling the seatbelt over her chest and listening for the "click", she turned to the driver.

"Take us back to the studio," she began in her thick Spanish accent, "We will finish this."

He nodded, "As you wish ..." The engine turned over and the lights came on, showing a path. As they began their journey back to the station, water sloshing to the sides of the street, they sat in silence, thinking over that day. María wanted to interview the supposed killer, it would make good news. But no one was allowed into the prison, unless, of course, they were the police. No news reporters, and only the cameras belonging to the court were allowed in. She could imagine the story airing on The First 48.

Bitter and wet, the black-haired woman stared out the window. She would not let the story go down the drain. She would not be known as the reporter who let this one "get away". She would get on top, no matter what it took.

Even if that meant sneaking in.

....

The brunet sat in silence, his blue eyes concentrating on the opposite wall, his forearms on the shiny top of the silver table. His hands clasped together, he continued to stare. Not talking, not moving. His eyebrows were not knit together, sweat was not dripping from his temples. He was as calm and as cool as any person could be -- whether innocent or not.

The two men on the other side of the one-way mirror stared in.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"We all know he -- "

"It's innocent until proven guilty, not guilty just because we feel like it," the second man turned to the first, "And I intend to defend him."

"How do we know he's not going to plead guilty."

"Who would?"

"Someone who is feeling bad about what they did and want to confess."

"Maybe he's not guilty."

"Maybe he wants a trial, so when he's found guilty -- "

"_If_, you mean."

He sighed. "_If_ he's found guilty, he gets the death penalty. Some do it so they won't have to face the hatred and sorrow anymore. Knowing what they did ... it messes the mind, you know."

"Yes, I know. I've dealt with people ... many people ... "

"But him?"

"No, none quite like him. But I won't turn him away just because it's different." The man exhaled, standing up straight and tugging at his jacket, "I enjoy a challenge."

"Well, good luck."

"Thank you. And you too." The second turned and left the room, walking down the hall to the second door and pushing it open. He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him, and walked over to the table. The brunet did not look up at him. His gaze did not follow the actions of the man, until he sat down. Then the convict sat back, his hands in his lap, and exhaled.

"Well, Mr. Romasanta," said the man, holding up a file, "You have quite a record."

"You've done research."

"Yes, yes. I have." Clearing his throat and setting the file on the table, he moved his chair closer. It squeaked loudly on the black and shiny floor. "And I know you're not capable of committing these things."

"I'm not?" His tone was almost that of someone whom had done the things, and was wondering why they thought he hadn't. It was obvious to him. Why not so to everyone else?

The defendant attorney cleared his throat again, but this time in a nervous fashion. He tugged at the collar of his black shirt. "Sir, I am not here to question you. I am here to defend you."

"Why?"

"It's my job."

"Job?"

"Yes. I work for it."

"Should you not enjoy it? Know that they are innocent? Or do you not care?"

"I, I care, Manuel," he spoke, trying to sound tough, "But it isn't important right now."

"How could it not be?"

"I don't need to know if you're innocent or guilty. Sir, you're innocent until _proven _guilty."

"Unless I confess?"

"Yes, unless that. But why? You obviously didn't do these things accused of you."

"But I did."

"What?"

"I did. All of them."

"Ch ... Children, though? Sir? You didn't. I know you."

"You do not know me."

"I know you well enough!"

"By studying papers? How could that be? Hardly any evidence of knowing someone. To know someone," his voice stern, "you need to talk to them. You need to ask them questions, you need to," here he leaned in, "ask the _right_ questions. And expect answers."

The other man leaned back, sweat trailing his face. Had it suddenly gotten hot in there? He coughed.

"I-I'm sorry, but you ... Killing children? And women?"

"All of them were women, sir."

"Y-Yes. But the evidence _for_ you, suggests -- "

"Against me, though."

"No, for you."

"I would like to hear it against me."

"Why?"

"To know what people think of me."

"Wha ... ?"

"Please."

Swallowing hard, he looked down at the papers. He shuffled through them. "You ... you were found at the crime scene of one ... You . .... you knew the victims ... you babysat two of them ... A-All of this is circumstantial! Sir, you don't need to hear this -- " He looked up.

"I _want_ to hear it." Romasanta's voice was deathly scary. His eyes were cold and hard. "I did not say I needed to. I want to. Read it."

"But, sir -- "

"_READ_ it."

Jumping and looking nervously from the man to the papers, the attorney began to read off the lists of offensives his client had committed.

Romasanta, not bothered by them at all, leaned back in his steel chair and watched as sweat dribbled off onto the table from the man. Most of the things had been true, such as the murder of Elaine McIntosh, mother of two, whom was not married. Being so, it was easy to seduce her, gain her trust enough until he was able to do away with her. He'd left the children alone. They had been in their rooms, watching television, which was a strange thing to him, and had heard nothing.

Others, however, were just plain works of fiction. He had never touched a 6 year-old "inappropriately". She had fallen and he had helped her stand. Whilst brushing off her knee, he noticed it was bleeding. It hurt. She screamed. Her mother ran over, swinging her leather purse at him. He had left, knowing nothing good could come from that, and that caused a string of complaints.

It almost amused him, listening to what people had filed against him. It was like listening to the Constables argue in court back home. He sighed, shaking his head. This was the only major action he had done since entering the room. The man on the other side of the glass did not miss the slight movement. He saw it and he examined it.

If he acted this way during the interview, after saying he had done these things, what would he do in court? Lie on the stand? He couldn't put him there then! This was an impossible fight. If he confessed, he'd be sentenced to life in prison, serving for some things he apparently didn't do. But if he pleaded innocent, and was found guilty, then he'd be given the death penalty. It was pretty much a lose-lose situation for the man accused.

Crossing his arms over his chest and sighing, the man looked down at the floor. This would be an interesting case. And complicated.

Hopefully not too complicated. He would have liked to get home before 10. But, on second thought ...

He looked up.

"I did not do half of the things you have listed."

"You haven't done any of it."

"Yes, I have."

"No, you haven't."

"Yes, I have."

"Sir -- "

"I have."

.. That might not be possible.


	2. María's Grand Idea

María sat at her desk, shuffling through papers. It had been a stressful day at work and she just wanted to go home. Rejected six times to interview her latest subject, she had gone back to the studio grumpy and angry. No one talked to her, for they knew what would happen, so she sat in burning silence. Her black hair, straight and long, draped over her slouched shoulders, a scowl on her face.

Ruffling through the sheets, she slammed one down onto the desk. She scooted the chair forward and read through it. Since the cameras weren't rolling currently, she could go through these pages and find the one she ...

"Here!" She shoved the paper across the desk to which someone passed by and picked it up. They read through it, stopping short. They turned around and looked at her.

"Are you serious?"

"It's a good story."

"It's against the law."

"Which makes it good."

"Which makes it illegal."

"We will make headlines!"

"We'll _be_ headlines! María, you're going to get us arrested. Shut down. Bankrupt -- this is crazy."

"It's brilliant."

He sighed. "María -- "

"Custodio," she began, "We will do this."

"I don't know ... "

"I'm not asking, I'm telling. We _are_ going to do this." Her angry face softened into a smile. "All right?"

He sighed, "Fine, fine. I'll ... I'll get everything ready."

"Yes, but subtly. Mics -- we need to be bugged. And a tiny camera, like a pin." she stood from the desk, "We will be virtually invisible! This news crew .. it will work!"

The man sighed, shaking his head. "María ... all right."

She smiled, walking off of the set and towards the dressing room.

"Wait, where are you going?"

"Off to get ready -- We need to be in disguise!"

As she disappeared, Custodio sighed to himself. He had a feeling he'd regret this ... Glancing at the paper, he muttered something. He was already regretting it ... María and her crazy ideas. Lying about who you were to get an interview was one thing, but this ... This was insane. Sneaking into a prison?

"Custodio! Where are you?!"

"Coming!" He shouted back, setting the paper on the desk. Rolling his eyes he began to walk off. "I'm coming .... "

So much for subtle.

....

"Hello, sir."

"Hello, Manuel."

"Do you have any more interesting things to ask me? Or are you finished with that?"

The man laughed lightly. "Yeah, I'm finished."

"That is good."

"So .. Manuel."

"Yes, Robert?"

" ... you ... " the attorney sat down across from him, glancing around the white room, "you have an idea of who set you up?"

"I was not set up."

"Ah, but say you were."

"But I was not."

"But if you were."

"I was not."

" ... if you _were_, then I'd ask if you knew who -- "

"Antonio."

"Antonio?"

"Yes."

"And who's he?"

"Someone who would like to see me dead."

"Dead?"

"Yes."

"That's quite severe."

"I thought you were finished asking questions."

Robert fell silent. He cleared his throat then, "Well, you see, I was, until you mentioned this man. Now I need to know what you mean."

Romasanta tilted his head to the side. "You are curious, sir. You say one thing, yet you do another. And you do not know Antonio."

"Do you plan on telling me who he is?"

"If I did not, I would have never told you about him."

"Right, well ... so?"

The brunet sat back, smiling slightly. "He's another curious man. He is quite strong, yes. Resentful. He hates me ... "

"And why does he hate you?"

"Why .. because I turned him."

"Turned him? What do you mean?"

Romasanta leaned forward, his chest against the long edge of the table. A wicked smile spread across his lips, almost in a perversely happy way. This newfound joy of entertaining these men in uniform gave him the feeling like he had control over them.

"Well, sir," he began, his voice almost sickeningly calm, "I turned him into a werewolf."

....

Robert dabbed his forehead with a hadkerchief, sweat trickling from his forehead. It had been a nerveracking meeting with his client, and the fact that accusing himself of changing someone into a werebeast didn't make it any better.

Coughing, he ran his hands under cold water. Raising them to his face he saw they were shaking. Angry, he dried them off on his shirt and slammed the water off. He would not let his fears of this man override his knowledge of crazies. He had been treating mentally ill patients for years, and he was no different. If he said werewolf, he meant clinical.

It was all in his head! Antonio was also, probably. Most likely he didn't exist. Turning to the mirror he noticed how red his face was. He quickly jerked his tie's knot away from his throat and undid the top two buttons of his shirt. It was still hard to breathe.

Clearing his throat, he dabbed his face and neck with the white cloth, trying to cool himself down. Everything had gone okay back in the room. And he was safe here. The man was locked away in his cell, alone, thank goodness, and would not be able to cause anyone any harm. Not that he would. He was innocent. Innocent, you know!

Shuddering invountarily, the man turned and walked out of the bathroom. Turning down the hall, he began his trek back to his office, ready to face the stack of papers. He trusted the man, he really did. But .. truth be told, he was afraid. Afraid of the insane, crazy people of the world. Of the ones whom believed in aliens, monsters and the boogeyman. All of them had rubbed off on him, and now he, himself, had begun to believe these things. He would rather work on thousands of papers than one more insane guest.

His house was overflooded with his work. From pictures of successes to information of losses. He wanted to win. From case to case, he wanted to come out on top.

Swallowed hard, he entered his room. Expecting to be alone, he had not anticipated any sort of person to be waiting. But there was. His frame filled the leather upholstered chair on the guest side of his desk, waiting patiently. Their eyes trained on the empty seat in front of them. As he entered, they looked over. Their bright brown eyes seemed to be glistening with joy.

The woman stood, her black hair in tight curls framing her face. She approached him in a hurry, sticking out her hand only to take his when he didn't offer it and shake it quickly.

"Nice to meet you, sir. I am María Santiago. I am here to see someone."

"Y-Yes?" He asked, taking his hand back. He noticed how strong of a grip the woman had. His palm was throbbing. He cleared his throat, "Who did you need to see?"

"Oh, well," she laughed, clasping her hands and placing them in front of her against her lap. "Well, you see, it's kind of embarrassing."

"Yeah?" Robert asked, walking past her to his desk. "Who is it?"

"It's ... it's someone related to me, in a way," she began, "We're in love."

"Obviously," he muttered under his breath. "I need a name, ma'am."

"Oh! Yes, of course." She laughed, rushing back to her seat. She sat, her hands in her lap, her ankles together with her legs leaning to the side. "Well, his name is ... It's Manuel."

Robert's head snapped up.

"Manuel Romasanta."

His eyes widened slightly. "You know him?"

"Why, yes." she laughed, trying to hide her lie over. She gave a smile, trying to act innocent. "He's my husband."


	3. Interview with a Werewolf

3/6/10? (or 3/7/10?, I think 3/6/10) - 3/8/10

The man shuddered involuntarily as the bright blue eyes followed his every move. From sipping the coffee in his cup to undoing and redoing his tie. Finally he cleared his throat and clasped his hands together on the top of the table, leaning forward. They were in the interviewing room. María sat behind the other side of the one way mirror, her eyes concentrating on the convicted brunet.

"So, Manuel, I hear that you're expecting some company, yes?" he asked, his face flush.

"I am?" he asked, "I am curious as to what makes you think that."

"Oh, just the fact that a lovely young lady came by asking for you."

"Really?"

"Yes."

" ... interesting." His blue eyes shifted from Robert towards the mirror, as if he knew the woman sat behind it. María's heart leapt and she stood suddenly, causing the chair to squeak loudly. She winced at this. Had she just blown her cover?

"Don't worry, María," the second man said, "he can not see you ... but don't you wish for him to? After all, he is your husband."

The woman's mind raced. Husband? What? What was he talking about? Then, like the deep gonging of a grandfather clock, it hit her loudly. She let out a breathy laugh and shook her head. Rising her hand, she smiled. "Oh, yes. I, I was just anxious. You know he's been in jail for a while ... and I haven't seen him in quite some time .. you know, he might not remember me."

"I'm sure he will. Who forgets their wedding day?"

She swallowed hard.

Who forgets their wedding day? Well .... Hopefully Manuel.

...

"You're .. .... " Robert swallowed, laughing lightly, "you're enjoying this?"

"Oh, yes. Very much so." Romasanta smiled a bit, leaning forward. "I enjoy when people _squirm_. It makes all the much more interesting ... don't you think?"

The attorney laughed loudly, sweat running down his face. It seemed he was only calm when he was not near the murderer, as he had been cool and collected fifteen minutes ago, before entering the room. He dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief.

"Yes. That's what we do, sir. But for the opposite. We will make those families squirm. Yes, sir. We will let them know that you didn't kill anyone -- wa-wait, now. W-We won't make them squirm," he began to mumble, nervous, "We'll just let them know."

Romasanta's wicked smile crossed his lips again, baring his teeth. "You see, sir," he began in a low voice, almost like that of only someone who could murder. It chilled Robert to the bone. "They already know ... and that's why they're upset. They need a boogeyman ... and I'm him."

The man's eyes widened. He scooted his seat back and stood, pacing the room width-wise, not going near his client. "You, you don't seem to understand." Manuel sat back with his hands in his lap. He watched his lawyer walk back and forth. "You are innocent. And I intend to prove that. For you. For your wife. For everyo -- "

"My wife?"

"Yes, your wife." Robert stopped, looking over at the other, "she came by today and asked to see you ... she's .. not your -- ?"

María dreaded to hear this as it was true. Would the man deny it and ruin everything? Would she be taken away in chains, arrested, and sent to jail for fraud and eluding a police officer? To be honest, if she could elude them, they weren't very good officers.

"Ah," the man began, "Yes. I apologize ... spending time in jail has .. dulled my memory a bit ... I suppose I had forced myself to forget as I .. wouldn't feel _guilty_," he emphasized this word, smirking at his attorney, "when I had other women in my bed."

"Y-Yes, I suppose so ... " Robert commented, coughing lightly and taking his place in his chair.

The woman on the other side of the glass let out a sigh of relief. He had agreed ... Wait a minute. WHY? She looked back at the glass, watching the man as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. It seemed like he knew that the woman had lied, and he enjoyed it. In some perverse way, did he get satisfaction from this? He, himself, eluding his own attorney? Or did he have the feeling they had something in common, and that she could help him? Shuddering at this thought, as they were nothing alike, the woman turned to the second man.

"I am ready to see him, Michael ... "

"Yes, I guessed so .. ." He leaned forward, pressing a button and speaking into a microphone. "Robert, Ms. Santiago is ready to see him."

The lawyer pressed his index finger along his right ear, nodding. He turned and stood, walking towards the door. He didn't say anything as he left, slamming the door closed, and walked down the hall. He pushed open the door and motioned with his hand for the woman to step out.

Crossing from the hall to the second room, María's heart leapt from her chest. Her nerves were beginning to fray and she felt her knees lock up. But she pushed herself forward, trying to ignore this feeling. She wanted to act like a wife, to fool everyone ... Gently touching the outside of her right thigh, she felt the wire running up to her chest. A mic. A tiny one, like a bug. She was going to get this interview ... but she needed to ask questions much like a wife would and not a reporter. Did she know how to do that? She had been a reporter for so long, she had forgotten how to ask the simple "how are you doing today?" question to her nephew in the morning without prying with a pen and paper in her hands.

Taking her place in the chair across from Romasanta, she cleared her throat, clasping her hands on the table top. Realizing that this was much like lawyers and news reporters, she quickly placed them in her lap, sitting up straight.

"So, Manuel," she began, then paused. She glanced over her shoulder to see Michael nod and disappear into the hall, the door closing behind him. She then heard the click of the door. Oh, no. She was locked in here? With that man?! Inhaling deeply, and closing her eyes momentarily, she calmed herself by repeating the control questions in her mind. She needed to be in here alone. This was best. No one could see the wire from behind the glass.

María turned around to see that the man was smiling at her, his lips parted to reveal long canines. His eyes glowed from their sparkling blue to a deeper, dark grey. She swallowed hard, feeling nervous. She scooted her chair closer to the table before placing her hands in her lap again.

"Manuel," she tilted her head to the side, acting innocent. If he liked innocent women, then maybe her acting like one could get some answers. After all, his wife had to be his type, right? " ... why did you do it?"

"What? Murder?"

"Yes."

"It was simple, really," he began, his eyes staring into hers, "I had the _urge_ to."

"U-Urge?"

"Yes ... don't you ever just get a feeling ... ? One that tugs on you from the inside .... "

"L-Like a conscience?"

He laughed softly, "No. Not like that. It's much more like ... like an instinct. ... It tells you what to do in a tough situation ... or who look at ... " He leaned in a bit, his teeth glinting in the fluorescent lighting, "who to kill."

The black-haired woman's eyes widened for a short moment. She quickly covered her actions by turning her face away to the right, to hide it from the one-way mirror. She sniffed, pretending to get emotional. "Manuel ... h-how come? You .. you never had a problem with me .... "

"Oh, ... are you upset?"

She sniffed again, shaking her head. "I ... I can't bare to see you in here, Manuel. It just .. it tears my heart." What really tore her heart was the fact that she was getting nowhere in his investigation. Wiping her eyes, though there were no tears to wipe, she inhaled shakily and sat up, her eyes trained on the table. The reflection of it made it easy to study the man's emotional features. His eyes were not sad or troubled, his mouth was not open nor pinched shut. His eyebrows were not knit together ... He looked calm. Really, really calm. And that worried her.

" .... A-Are you coming home, soon?" She began, turning her head towards the right side again.

"No. I don't suspect so."

" ... But, we .. " she racked her mind for something to say, "... those women, we were going to their funerals .. I mean, their graves. As an anniversary .. to apologize ... to family."

"I apologized already and they did not accept it. Why should I do it again if it will be the same?"

"Maybe it won't this time. Maybe this time .. they'll forgive you."

" ... Why would they forgive .. a _monster_ like me?"

The woman's blood ran cold and she shuddered slightly. She glanced over to see the man was still calm looking. He was sitting back. Not straight up, but a bit slouched down, like he was sliding in the chair. His hands were in his lap, and his eyes were trained on her. He tilted his head to the side, staring. She felt her face heat up and her heart leap. Was this caused from nerves or something else? Something like ... No, never. She didn't like this murderer. She hated him.

"I would forgive you, Manuel."

"You have to. You're my wife ... "

He paused as she glanced over again, her eyes on the table. Was he smirking? No. What would he be smirking about? It was like he knew something she didn't. That made her irritated, almost angry. As she turned, mouth opened, to say something, he finished his sentence. It made her stop completely and stare, wide-eyed, at him.

" ... María."


	4. No Need for a Wire

6/9/10 - 6/11/10

Hey! I'm in a GREAT mood for some reason! "Blow Away". Let's have some fun! I'm even checking up on Quizilla right now!

* * *

María was silent as she shuffled through her papers. She had gotten no where in the secret interview and she was angry. If she had to break down walls - move the world and bend people to her will - she would. There was nothing that would keep her from what she wanted. Not even the fact that supposed serial killer had known her name despite never meeting her would keep her far; in fact, it had urged her to dig deeper into the history of him and go back for a second time. She obviously hadn't learned anything from the experience that would have been frightening for anyone else.

Finding the sheet she wanted, she let out a satisfied sigh and began to cross from her desk over to the door. She pulled it open to come face-to-face with Robert, Manuel's lawyer. He looked up quickly, shoving his handkerchief into the opening of his sleeve and cleared his throat, "Ms. Santiago, I-I need to speak with you."

The man's face was bright red and he was breaking out in a sweat. It seemed that his shirt was two sizes small and his tie was more like a noose around his thick neck. He cleared his throat again and looked at her expectantly. María shook her head, getting back to reality and nodded.

"Please come in, sir." She stepped to the side and Robert stepped in, glancing around the office. He headed to the desk and took a seat, fumbling with his fingers. The black-haired woman walked back to her desk and took a seat across from him, setting down the paper she held. "What is it?"

"W-Well, it's about you husband ... "

Her heart fluttered at this for some reason. It almost seemed like she was excited about it, but .. no. That was silly.

"What about him?"

"He .. well ... well, he seems to have ... escaped."

"What?" Her voice was low and cold.

The man seemed even more nervous. He tugged at his collar and sat up straight, coughing. "You see, we had him on watch, but one of the guards - a young, new fella, rookie he was - well, it seems that he might have slipped away ... while this gent guard was in the bathroom. We can find him, I know it. But we need to make sure; you're not housing him, are you?"

She was silent, staring at Robert. He adverted his eyes towards the window, which had the blinds pulled shut. Dark light filtered into the room, giving it all a dull brown glow. He quickly looked back to the woman who closed her eyes and sighed deeply.

"No, sir. I am most certainly _not_ hiding my husband in my home. If I were, which I am not, I would not be here, at my office. I would be home. With him."

"Yes, yes, right. Well ... " he stood quickly and nodded, "thank you for your time, Ms. Santiago." He turned to leave, walking to the door. Once he reached it, he paused and glanced down to his feet before looking back. "Um, Ms.?"

She looked up in an almost exasperated way at him, "What?"

"Why is it ... Ms. Santiago?"

María was silent as she raked her mind for an answer. She needed to think of something quick. "My mother never approved of my marriage to Manuel; she didn't trust him ... I suppose she was right ... " she tried to play the part of the daughter whom only takes her mother's opinion into consideration once it's too late; she sighed, turning her eyes down, "She wanted me to divorce, but I couldn't ... so I changed it to "Ms" to seem like I had, and ... well, Santiago is my maiden name."

"Ah, right ..." he laughed a bit, as if relieved, "That makes sense ... I'll be on my way .." he turned, bumped into the door, excused himself with a "Sorry ..." and then pulled open the door, exiting the room. María sighed and slumped back into her chair. This was going to be a tough case. Tougher than she had ever had before; even tougher than the time she, herself, was arrested. Yes, it had happened before. Shaking her head of black curls, she smiled to herself.

Nope. Not this time. She was going to get her information, no matter what. Standing, she grabbed her coat and the sheet of paper and headed to the door. The first step to getting what she needed was giving Manuel what he wanted. The only slight problem was that she had no idea what he wanted.

Oh, well. She'd find out eventually - soon, actually.

* * *

"I'm sorry?" the man asked in disbelief.

"He's gone - apparently they lost him."

"How do you lose a serial killer?"

"I don't know," María said bitterly.

"He ... don't they have special people to watch murders?"

"I don't know," she said again, folding and unfolding her sheet of paper. She slung her purse over her shoulder and rolled her eyes, sighing heavily, "We're not going to give up, though."

"How are you going to get the interview when you're story is missing!"

She turned her head towards him, "I'm not going to give up," she said slowly, lowering her voice, "okay?"

He nodded, "Yes, I get it, all right."

Smiling, the black-haired woman turned to the 5'3" woman back by the studio, "Sarah." The girl looked up, her large eyes snapping open.

"Yes?"

"Please, get my things ready."

"For?"

"I'm going for an interview."

"Another one?"

"Yes."

Sarah was going to ask where she was going this time, but decided against it having heard her temper not two minutes earlier. She turned her eyes down toward the ground and nodded, "Yes, ma'am."

"Good."

The younger woman scurried off to get María's microphone and some strong tape.

"You can't really expect to get a second interview when he's missing - "

"Shush," she said quickly, shooting a glare at the man, "We don't know if they just said that to get rid of me or not."

"I don't know. Why would they not want you there?"

"Incase I really was his wife and decided that I loved him so much that I would try to break him out of jail."

" ... why isn't he in a psychiatric ward?"

"Hm, that's a good question to ask. Thank you, Kent."

The man shook his head and sighed, "I didn't mean to give you more questions to ask him."

"Well you did." María turned as Sarah came up to her. "I'm also going to need an ear bud."

"What?" Kent began, stepping forward, "we can't talk to you through an ear bud if we're still here in the studio!"

"I know that," the black-haired woman replied as Sarah taped the microphone to her stomach.

"Then what are you doing?"

She turned her head and smiled sweetly at him, "Silly, you're going with me."

* * *

"Ooh," Kent murmured, "I have a bad feeling about this ..."

"Don't be silly, you're getting paid."

"Yes, but do I get a bonus?" He stated coldly.

"Don't be smart." María said, tugging on her wire to make sure it wouldn't come loose during her interview. "All right, it's not visible?"

"No, not at all," Sarah said, her eyes large and glassy. She was afraid - terrified. She had just been informed that her boss was going to go undercover and talk to a serial killer. Naturally she had protested, but it was no use. María's plan had stuck in her mind and she had no intention of backing out.

"Good. Now what about Kent's?"

The younger girl turned her eyes to the man, searching all over his chest and arms. No wires were visible. "His wire is pretty much invisible."

"Pretty much?" María repeated.

"It is, it is invisible."

"María, if I get caught doing this - "

"Don't worry, you won't."

He exhaled sharply, "You're really set on this, aren't you?"

A true smile spread over her face and she beamed, "Of course I am! It's the biggest thing since Ted Bundy!"

Kent rolled his eyes, "There's been plenty of people since Ted Bundy."

"Yes, but never this much commotion over them. Usually they're forgotten. This man .. he ... he'll always live on in New York; he'll live forever! Everywhere!" She was squealing now, excited like a small school girl. She sighed happily and shook her head; her curls bounced around her face, "This will be such a good interview ... "

"You're getting a bit too excited. What if things don't go as planned? Where are you going to find him, for one?"

She grinned like a kid with a huge secret. "You just have to get it in your mind, Kent! We're going to break this case wide open - and then, we're gonna close it! And, we're going to meet him some place..."

"Some place?"

"Yes."

"And where is that?"

She smiled at him.

"Wait, you made an arrangement? So you DO know where he is?"

"Of course not! I just decided that ... last interview I asked if he'd like to meet."

"Did you say you'd meet him with the police present at the jail?"

She was silent, not answering him.

The man was becoming increasingly worried. What if María got in over her head? What if she was so filled with gloat and pride that she lost touch with reality and thought that nothing bad could happen to her? What if that man controlled her and convinced her that he loved her and then killed her, just like the rest? He tried to push these thoughts out of his mind, but it wasn't working. Something always came back, floating around his head; whether it was the thought of someone dying or someone being manipulated or getting caught, it itched at him, nearly driving him crazy.

"Come on, Kent," María's voice broke through his thoughts, shattering them as he came into consciousness, "It's not going to be so bad, or dangerous." She smiled gently, "You just need to trust me."

He turned his eyes down and sighed, "...right. Trust you." He felt like he couldn't trust anyone, not even himself. If anything happened to the woman .. he'd never forgive himself. But seeing how excited she was about this expedition, he couldn't possibly stop her - not like she'd listen to him anyway. Sighing heavily, the man tugged at his wire to make sure it wouldn't slip during movement. He wanted it all to end; it wasn't a smart idea to do this. A serial killer? But whatever María wanted, she got.

That was perhaps a bad thing.

"All right, let's gooo!" The curly-haired woman turned on her nude heels and began to stride off towards the doors leading to the parking lot. Kent scoffed, grabbed the papers along with his leather bag and jogged after her.

"You can't just leave without warning!"

"I can do what I want, when I want," she began, her back straight and head high, "I'm María Santiago!"

Kent couldn't help chuckling at this. She wasn't full of herself, she was just ... well, she was just being María. Shaking his head, he pulled open the metal door and let the woman pass through. He followed, letting the door slam closed behind him. The noise echoed down the dark parking lot, giving him the eerie sensation of being watched. Goosebumps ran up and down his arms, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. The black of the lot stretched out before them, clinging to the walls and corners, seeping into the floor and giving it the appearance of a horror movie. Should they have left earlier in the day? It seemed to be midnight in the parking area.

Just as the man was going to tell María that they should go back, he stopped in his tracks and watched as the woman stepped forward. She turned her head in a slow-motion style and looked at him, "What's wrong?" The words hit him slowly and her lips moved separately. There was something wrong.

"María." It seemed that his mouth didn't move at all, but he heard his voice echo in the lot. "María."

The shadow bounced on the wall like a dancing flame, covering the only lit concrete wall in the entire area. The woman turned her head again, slowly, and her eyes widened. It wasn't possible. No, no, it wasn't. But there he was, standing there, staring. He was almost 50 feet away. His blue eyes were dark in the lighting, his skin a grey color. The shadows curled around him like they were feeding off of him, like he was a source of nutrients and strength.

"You ... " she couldn't finish her sentenced before he strode towards her at an abnormally fast pace. Soon he was standing in front of her, staring down. María's entire body suddenly seemed to turn cold and stiffen. She felt her knees lock up as she stared into his eyes. A wicked smile spread over his lips, like he was enjoying this power over her.

Kent had the feeling that this wasn't the place María had in mind to meet him.

"Manuel."

His smile spread even wider as she said his name. Watching her with the instincts of a kind killer, he grinned, "You made it."


	5. Meeting with an Escaped Convict

Written 7/23/10 - 8/10/10. Typed and uploaded 10/17/10.

* * *

"Manuel," María began, somewhat startled at his presence, "What are you doing here?"

He smiled, his face deeply shadowed, giving him a very creepy appearance. "We agreed to meet."

She was confused, "No, no."

"No?"

"In the jail ... we're supposed to meet in the jail."

He continued to smile, no tin the least bit surprised at this statement. "I thought you'd enjoy seeing me here ... outside of the jail."

It was as if he knew she'd be here. He knew when she'd be leaving.

María noticed he didn't have on the orange prison jumpsuit he was ordered to wear. Instead, the man wore black tailored pants that seemed to belong to a suit, a white short-sleeved undershirt and black tennis shoes. He didn't seem to match, but it worked in a way. At least for an escaped convict. He looked normal. All except for the wicked smile across his face. He didn't look insane. But he didn't look too friendly either, mind you.

His eyes shifted behind the news reporter's head toward the other man. His smile didn't drop, or grow wider. His voice remained the same, calm and steady.

"I see you've brought company."

* * *

"Manuel, you have to go back," María said, "they'll think you ... they'll think _I _had something to you with _you_ escaping."

"But you did."

"I did not!"

"You said we'd meet ... we did."

"I had no intention to lead you to the idea I meant 'escape'!"

"So you did?"

"Did what?"

"Want me to escape."

"No!"

"I don't - "

"I hate to break this up," Kent interrupted, "but it's not so smart to be explaining how - or why - he escaped while in a parking garage outside of a NEWS STUDIO ..."

"Kent's right. We should go somewhere ... somewhere you won't be noticed."

"I won't be noticed anywhere."

"You're a murderer - oh."

"What?"

María's face turned pale, as if she'd been drained of blood from an invisible vampire bat sitting on her shoulder. She had just realized - actually, truly realized - thhat she was sitting next to a serial killer. She was in her car, sitting beside a murderer. Manuel sat quietly in the passenger seat, staring at her almost innocently.

She felt frightened. Her palms began to sweat, becoming clammy. She swallowed, or at least struggled to. Her throat seemed to have dried up and closed off sometime when she wasn't paying attention.

"María?" Kent's voice seemed far off and quiet, like he was part of a dream she was waking from. It echoed. "María?"

"Que?" She looked into her rearview mirror at him. "What?"

"Are you all right?"

"Y-yeah. I'm fine ..." Blinking, the woman looked toward the steering wheel. If she tried to drive off, would Manuel kill her? Would he if she didn't drive? Was this a trap? Her mind seemed clouded with frightening thoughts. It was very unpleasant. for the first time, she felt as if she were going crazy.

In a panic she turned and reached for the door handle, grasping at the air. Before her very eyes the locks shot down and disappeared into the door, like in those scary movies with the crazed taxi driver. Still, she grabbed the handle and yanked, desperately trying to wrench it open. Nothing happened. She banged on the windows with her palm and then her fist. Should she scream? It was like she was the only person there, locked in a car in the parking garage belonging to the news studio.

Sweat began to dribble down her now-ruddy face. Shoving her shoulder against the window and pulling relentlessly on the door handle did nothing to help. Okay. It was time to scream.

She opened her mouth but only an upset whimper came out. Help. She needed help.

"María, calm down," Kent replied though his own mind was racing and it felt as if his heart were about to beat right out of his chest.

María blocked out his words and continued to bang on the door like she was programmed to do it over and over. She was unsure whether to cry or laugh. Was this a joke?

"María."

"What?" Her head snapped to the side and she found herself looking into the crystal blue eyes of Manuel. Her heart was in her throat. She froze in her movement, her mind stalling just like a car's engine. His face seemed to be saying, "Now you see how serious I am?" as he smiled in a way that would make any woman fall for his lies. His eyes sparkled in an almost unnatural way - they looked almost like the ocean itself, a dazzling array of false diamonds on rolling waves.

However he said nothing of how he was serious; he simply asked a question.

"¿Tienes mideo?"

Are you afraid?


End file.
